


The Strongest Stars

by FortySevens



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, DameRey, Drabble Collection, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Post TLJ, Post-Canon, Rebelcaptain - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-19
Updated: 2018-03-26
Packaged: 2019-03-21 03:17:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13731990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FortySevens/pseuds/FortySevens
Summary: A compilation of my Star Wars 'verse drabbles prompted to me as FortySevensWrites on Tumblr.Chapter Three: “I tried to wait up.” (Damerey)Chapter Four: "Because I'm a spy." (RebelCaptain)





	1. “This one’s on me." + Jyn and Cassian

**Author's Note:**

> Did a couple prompt for on the Tumblr, decided to put together a compilation here on AO3. Don't forget, the ask box is always open for prompts!
> 
> Prompt of the chapter from [The Fake Redhead.com](https://thefakeredhead.com/tfrs-prompt-library/)
> 
> Number 199:  
> “Who moved my C4? I just reorganized and it should be between the burner phones and the det-cords.” 
> 
> “Leaving aside the fact that you alphabetized your weapons closet, you used the last of your C4 trying to prove that you could break into an unbreakable safe.” 
> 
> “Oh, right. That was fun. Use the money I won off that bet to get me more C4.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For batsonthebrain.

“This one’s on me.”

 

Jyn snorts, but takes the cup from him, “You bet your ass it is,” she knocks back a swig of the bitter ale, smirks. “What’s mine is yours, remember?”

 

Sitting down next to her on the overturned log, Cassian brushes his elbow into her upper arm, “Oh, is that what you’re calling it?”

 

“Am I wrong?”

 

“Are you ever?” Cassian asks, curls his arm over her shoulders and tugs her into his side where she settles with a happy hum that’s only a little tinged with pain after the quick dive she took to avoid a volley of blasterfire from a stormtrooper before—

 

Before the second Death Star was destroyed, taking Emperor with it.

 

Before the Rebellion all but won the war.

 

In the skies above their heads, another series of sparks ignite through the stars—more pieces of her father’s greatest nightmare burning up on Endor’s atmosphere.

 

Cassian brushes his thumb over her shoulder as she takes another, longer drink, and Jyn tucks in closer, “Did you ever think we’d live to see this?”

 

“No,” Cassian presses his mouth to her temple, exhales hard against her sweat-soaked skin. “But I’m glad I did, and I’m glad you’re with me to see it too.”

 

Propping her cup between her knees, Jyn cups his jaw, brushes her thumb over the corner of his mouth before she presses her lips to his, long and lingering. When she pulls away, she tips her forehead against his and runs her thumb over his lower lip, grins when he purses his lips against it.

 

“Me too, Cassian.”

 

It’s not, _I love you_ , but they’ve whispered that plenty. It’s the same.

 

Eventually, Jyn shifts back into his side as the celebrations spill from the village and into the corner they’ve staked out to watch the last of the Death Star’s explosions.

 

“Cassian?”

 

He hums around a sip of his own ale.

 

“What forms of payment do these Ewoks even _take_?”

 

He goes quiet as another volley of sparks shower across the sky.

 

“Jyn?”

 

“Yes?”

 

“Don’t ruin the moment.”


	2. Damerey + “I think you missed your calling.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The one from blistrysmysteries, who wanted shenanigans, and got some of that, but mostly Damerey makeouts instead. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> Prompt of the chapter from [The Fake Redhead.com](https://thefakeredhead.com/tfrs-prompt-library/)
> 
> Number 200: 
> 
> “I can tell you five things better than hanging around a dead body. No, you know what? Ten things. Twenty. Thirty.” 
> 
> “Are you going to keep increasing that number until we leave?” 
> 
> “Yes.”

“I think you missed your calling. _Really_.”

 

Rey’s laugher filters through the hand she has clamped over her mouth and she lets the doorframe to Poe’s quarters do most of the effort of keeping her upright. Poe groans, a low echo sounding through his room, and he covers his face with his hands and flops backwards on his bed.

 

He scrubs his hands over his face and up into his hair, “I was supposed to be a _joke_.”

 

“ _Sure_ it was.”

 

“It _was_ ,” he smacks his hands on the mattress on either side of his hips. “I was drunk. Jess was drunk. Yolo was _really_ drunk.”

 

When she can breathe again after laughing so hard, Rey pushes off the door so it’ll slide shut behind her, crosses the room and flops on her side next to him. Between them, she drops the datapad that contains the file in question, with the glorious image of _Commander Poe Dameron of the Resistance_ , wreathed in clouds that have X-wings bursting from behind their cover.

 

Poe groans again, flops his hand against the datapad until it falls off the bunk and lands on the floor with a clatter. Rolling her eyes at him, Rey shifts, props her head on her hand and pokes his shoulder with the the first two fingers of her free hand, “I don’t know why you don’t like it,” she says, ever reasonably. “Your face is doing very good things for the Rebellion efforts.”

 

“But it’s _my face_ ,” he covers it with his hands again. “I can never get a moment’s peace anymore.”

 

Tapping her fingers against him, she reaches up and nudges at the spot on his cheek that isn’t covered by his palms, “I can’t speak to who ever made the decision to spread it all over the Holonoet,” it was Kare and Iolo, with the help of a very drunk Kaydel, but as long as Poe doesn’t say he knows that, she’s not going to be the one to tell him. “But it’s pretty peaceful in here, don’t you think?”

 

It is, especially with the doors closed, muffling the sounds of the Rebellion as the shifts change from night to third-shift.

 

As if he finally figured out how alone they are, Poe lifts his hands off his face, turns to her with one eyebrow arched toward his hairline, “It’s not so bad.”

 

Poe reaches across the space between them slides his fingers over her jaw, tucking them right up next to where her cheek rests on her palm, “Hey,” he murmurs, voice low as his eyes go dark. “C’mere.”

 

Letting him take the weight of her head, Rey leans in and presses her lips to his, props her free hand on his shoulder for balance when Poe rolls back onto his back, urging her on top of him. She tilts her head to change the angle of the kiss, keeps it slow and easy in the quiet of his room, and Poe tucks his hand around her back, squeezes his fingers around the hem of her shirt.

 

When she pulls away, Rey runs her nose against his, murmurs, “I still think we should have you do another photoshoot.”

 

“Only if you do it with me,” he murmurs, pecks her mouth. “You and the Falcon? We’ll be getting new pilots in droves.”

 

Rey snorts, pats her hand on his chest, reaches up and trails her fingers through his hair, “We’ll see.”

 

“I’m going to hold you to that.”

 

He tightens his grip on her shirt, and that’s the only warning Rey gets before he shifts his hips and flips her onto her back, brushes his face against her neck until she squirms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt of the chapter from [The Fake Redhead.com](https://thefakeredhead.com/tfrs-prompt-library/)
> 
> Number 200: 
> 
> “I can tell you five things better than hanging around a dead body. No, you know what? Ten things. Twenty. Thirty.” 
> 
> “Are you going to keep increasing that number until we leave?” 
> 
> “Yes.”


	3. “I tried to wait up.” - Rey & Poe Dameron

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I tried to wait up.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sleepytime prompt, prompted by me, because I wanted to.

It’s late when Poe finally returns to base from the latest recruitment mission with Jess and Snap, and all he wants to do is fall into bed and sleep for a million years. As hard as it is, to be gone from base for such long stretches, he understands it, why Leia chooses to send them three of them out to every corner of the galaxy. They were the destroyers of the Starkiller base, they are living proof that the First Order _can_ be stopped.

 

It’s one hell of a pitch, and it _works._

 

That doesn’t mean it’s not exhausting, and after Crait—where he was at his absolute lowest as a pilot and a leader and a Rebel—Poe _hates_ having to be a poster-boy for the New Rebellion.

 

He’s not the hero these people they’re recruiting think he is. He’s one man, part of a much larger spark that will burn the First Order to the ground. And it’s not that he’s lying to these new recruits, but he wishes he knew the best way to help them manage their expectations.

 

For a while though, the Rebellion was just twenty people, crammed into one ship, in desperate search of a base and allies and supplies.

 

And now that he’s out of debrief, all Poe wants is to find that ship and its captain.

 

Jess and Snap are kind enough to keep their comments to themselves as he breaks away and turns back to the flight deck while they head deeper into base toward the barracks—well, more or less out of his earshot, Jess is really better at that when she _tries_ , which she is definitely not right now, but it’s not like Poe hasn’t heard it all anyway.

 

The Millennium Falcon sits off to the side of the flight deck in all its historic glory, and Poe stops a few feet away and takes it all in, because he can’t _not_. This ship has seen more Rebel history that most of their Rebels, has achieved feats many would deem _completely impossible_. Even him. He still can’t believe Finn and Rey’s story about the engine shut-down backflip Rey _somehow_ executed while they were outrunning the First Order back on Jakku, back when this all started and some force— _the Force_ —saw fit to bring them together.

 

Keying in the access code, Poe waits for the hatch to lower and ducks inside, finds the lights dimmed to ship’s night and tries to do the math in his sluggish mind to figure out what _actual_ time it is. That horrible bridge between both far too late and much too early, most likely.

 

The door to the captain’s quarters slide open without that little hitch that had been plaguing the ancient ship for weeks, so Rey and Rose must have finally gotten the chance to take it apart and see what the problem was, and it means that the room’s occupant doesn’t do more than stir a little at the shaft of light from the hallway that breaks into the small room.

 

Squinting through the darkness lit only a little by the hunk of kyber from the lightsaber Rey has yet to have time to fix, Poe finds her curled up on her side with one arm tucked under the pillow and the other draped loosely over her stomach, back pressed to the far bulkhead. There’s a sliver of unoccupied space left, and Poe wants nothing more than to occupy it for the first time in weeks.

 

As quiet as he can, he strips off his flight suit and drapes it over the foot of the bed, shucks off his pants and leaves them in a pile next to her discarded leggings and crosspieces. Scrubbing a hand through his hair, he toys with the idea of showering off the stink of days of travel, but—

 

Rey’s in this bed, and he wants nothing more than to curl up with her in his arms and catch a few hours before he has to start back up again, dive headfirst back into this endless war.

 

He strokes his fingertips over the back of her hand and fingers where she grips the blankets like someone’s going to rip them away from her, which is something he’s not interested in thinking about when he’s this exhausted. When she finally loosens her grip, he pulls the blanket back and slides in next to her, tamps down on a groan as he settles his exhausted body on the mattress. Stretching out, he lets Rey roll into him and curl up against his side, fits his arm around her waist and slides his hand under her thin sleep shirt.

 

One of his favorite things about sleeping with Rey, other than _sleeping with Rey_ , is that, for as much as she avoids casual contact when she’s awake, she _loves_ to cuddle when she’s sleepy. And tonight she’s miles of soft warm skin that Poe wants to bury himself into and never leave the bunk again.

 

“Poe?” He feels more than hears his name whispered into his chest.

 

Hushing her, Poe draws his hand up and down her back, soothing her back toward sleep and bringing himself along with her, when she starts to stretch her arm out like she’s reaching to pop her shoulder back into its socket, because all that’s going to do is wake her up more, “Go back to sleep, scavenger girl.”

 

She hums, settling more on her stomach against his side, “I tried to wait up.”

 

“It’s fine, go back to sleep,” he reaches up and tangles his fingertips in her hair at her nape, strokes his thumb up and down the side of her neck as he reaches across and strokes his other and over the side of her smooth, warm stomach. “Missed you.”

 

As her warmth leeches into him from the side, Poe feels himself start to drift, float off toward thoughts more pleasant than the things he’s had to think about the last few weeks, “You’re back?”

 

The question draws him back, and Poe chuckles quiet, low in his throat, holds her tighter and lets her slide a knee over his hip, “Yeah,” he murmurs, turns his head and presses his mouth to her hairline. “Finally back, scavenger girl.”

 

“Good,” he feels her press her mouth to his shoulder, digs her fingers around the hem of his shirt. “You’ll be here when I wake up?”

 

“No other place I want to be.”

 

He feels her smile against his chest and presses his lips back to her hairline, releases another deep breath and finally allows himself to drift off to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, you can find me on Tumblr at @fortysevenswrites, where my ask box is always open for prompts.


	4. "Because I'm A Spy" + Jyn & Cassian

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I know your answer is probably going to be, because I’m a spy, but why do you know how to do this?”
> 
> “Because I’m a spy.”
> 
> “Godsdamnit Cassian.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another self-prompted prompt, because I can.

“I know your answer is probably going to be, _because I’m a spy_ , but why do you know how to do this?”

 

“Because I’m a spy.”

 

“Godsdamnit Cassian.”

 

Lying under him as she is, she doesn’t have the leverage to smack him upside the head like he deserves, so she settles for reaching back and digging the point of her finger into his thigh until he swats her away, shoves her arm back until she’s not angling it so awkwardly that it puts pressure on the already sore muscles in her shoulder.

 

Jyn knows she carries her tension primarily in her neck and upper back, is more prone to headaches caused by that than she cares to admit—and she _hates_ admitting to any weakness, but she knows she can thank Saw for that particular personality quirk—so it’s after one too many afternoons of digging her hand into the side of her neck that finds Cassian sitting on her back in the quarters they share, her shirt off and his hands warm as he digs into the sore muscles.

 

“Force Jyn,” he grunts, digging his thumb into a particularly stubborn knot so hard she whines into the pillow she’s wrapped around, but Cassian holds down until the muscle spasms and releases, soothes the spot with light circles before he moves on to the next. “How do you live like this?”

 

“I’ve been stressed for sixteen years,” her breath catches when he sets his thumbs on either side of her neck. “What do you expect? And don’t think I didn’t notice how you avoided that question. Here I thought you were supposed to be a _good_ liar. _Rebellion’s best spy_ and all that nonsense Mothma and Draven like to blather on about.”

 

Still pressing hard, Cassian shifts his fingertips over the line of her shoulders, digs deeper into the muscle, “Would you believe me if I told you it’s classified?”

 

Jyn snorts, shifts her right shoulder higher into the press, and Cassian presses even harder in response until she sighs, “Not for a second.”

 

“Well, it is,” Cassian makes a scoffing noise in the back of his throat when he discovers the line of knots in the muscle that trails down the right side of her neck and down to her shoulder blade and sets in to start working them out from the top-down. “Very classified.”

 

“I will slice into your records and the Rebellion will thank me for it.”

 

With a laugh, Cassian sets both thumbs into a knot at the base of her shoulder so hard Jyn twitches, but doesn’t try to shy away from him, because she knows it’s helping, even if it farking _hurts_. Smoothing his fingers over her probably reddening skin, he trails his palms up and down her spine to give her upper back a break from unraveling it bit by bit, smoothes his hands over her ribs and out to the sides.

 

“Draven would happily court-martial you.”

 

She hums, for a second wondering why he’d bring that up—it’s not like Draven doesn’t _always_ want to court-martial her at best, want to send her off to the center of the Yavin system’s sun at worst—but then her brain catches up with the rest of their conversation, and she hums and shifts a little, and Cassian scoots down off her back a little so he can help her twist and stretch out some of the tense spots in her lower back, “And what’s that going to do?” She grumbles around a moan when Cassian sets his knuckles into the dips on either side of her spine. “Dock pay that I’m already not going to get?”

 

“I shouldn’t answer that.”

 

“Says the man who hasn’t been paid in,” she breaks off around a moan when Cassian does _something_ to her mid-back that almost leaves her a drooling mess on their bed. “How many years did you say that one time?”

 

“I was high on _so many_ painkillers, it doesn’t count.”

 

“It totally counts.”

 

She snorts into the pillow, shifts her head away from the spot she inadvertently drooled on and halfheartedly hopes Cassian doesn’t notice, “Don’t think I missed your attempt to avoid telling me where you learned how to do this, you’re really terrible at this lying thing.”

 

Cassian flips her over so quick she squeals in a truly undignified manner because of her surprise. He settles on top of her and props his elbows on either side of her head, brushes his nose against hers and meets her gaze with that crinkling in the corners of his eyes that he rarely lets anyone else see and she loves, both because it makes him look years younger _and_ because he reserves it for her, “Lying to _you_.”

 

Lifting one hand—one hand that’s _shaking_ with how much less tense her muscles are and how the nerves don’t quite know how to compensate for that just yet—Jyn rests it against the side of his head, runs her fingertips through the hair above his ear, “Don’t get sweet on me, Andor,” she murmurs around her traitorous heart, which has lodged itself in her throat.

 

They’re still getting used to the intimacy side of things, still processing the whirlwind of events that left them nearly dying on the shores on Scarif, but then—somehow—very much alive and camping together in shared quarters on Yavin IV.

 

It’s been months, and they’re still feeling out this unfamiliar territory.

 

But still—it’s difficult to just let go sometimes.

 

Having her muscles turned to jelly does help matters.

 

Shifting his weight to one side, Cassian grabs her hand, presses her knuckles to his mouth, “You’re my partner, I don’t take orders from you.”

 

Jyn rolls her eyes, slides her other hand around his neck and tugs him down to her, “The hells you don’t,” she murmurs, nudges her nose against his and urges him even closer, so he has to drop down to his arm and rests the weight of his chest on hers. “You should kiss me. That’s _not_ an order.”

 

“Well, so long as it’s not,” he murmurs before swooping in, capturing her parted mouth with his.

 

They kiss, slow and languid and not really intending to go anywhere—she’s too tired, because apparently getting a massage is kind of exhausting in ways she never thought to think of—until Jyn breaks away and presses short kisses up his jaw toward his ear, “I still haven’t forgotten that you avoided my question.”

 

Cassian groans, presses a hand to her shoulder so she’s lying back on the pillow—she can feel the spot she drooled on, cool against her neck, “Then I need to do a better job to distract you,” he murmurs against her mouth, tongue darting out to trace the seam of her lips.

 

“You’re welcome to try.”

 

Okay, so maybe she’s not _that_ tired.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, the FortySevensWrites askbox is open on Tumblr!

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt of the chapter from [The Fake Redhead.com](https://thefakeredhead.com/tfrs-prompt-library/)
> 
> Number 199:  
> “Who moved my C4? I just reorganized and it should be between the burner phones and the det-cords.” 
> 
> “Leaving aside the fact that you alphabetized your weapons closet, you used the last of your C4 trying to prove that you could break into an unbreakable safe.” 
> 
> “Oh, right. That was fun. Use the money I won off that bet to get me more C4.”


End file.
